it’s a shame,
it’s a shameful game—
the way we smile
through gritted teeth
and call it growing pains.
the way i tuck my need
under the rug
before you come home,
and you hang your silence
on the coat rack
like it's your gift to me.
we touch each other
like apology—
soft, too soft,
like we’re scared to press
too hard and find the bruise
we’ve both been ignoring.
i tell you,
i’m fine,
with a voice that shakes
like wet glass
and you nod
like you didn’t hear it crack.
some nights,
i lie so still beside you,
i forget which heartbeat is mine.
you kiss my shoulder
out of habit,
and i pretend
it means something
more than muscle memory.
it’s a shame,
it’s a shameful game—
this dance of almosts
and unspoken ache,
where love used to be
a language,
but now it's just
a long pause
and a dim lamp.
we both want more,
but neither of us
wants to be the one
who says:
i don’t feel seen.
i don’t feel held.
i don’t feel like home anymore.
so we trade pieces
of ourselves
in the dark,
hoping the other
can build a whole
out of what’s left.
it’s a shame,
it’s a shameful game—
how we love each other
just enough to stay,
but not enough
to stop breaking.
~ Ola